When at last he got away he walked home in a bad humor; he was even annoyed with Olive.  Granting that what she had done was natural enough under the circumstances, and that she had not wished to stop when she saw him in company with a woman she did not like, he thought she might have considered him as well as herself.  She should have known that it would give him great trouble for her to dash by in that way and neither stop nor come back to explain matters.  She must have known that Maria Port was not going to stay always, and she might have waited somewhere until the woman had gone.  If she had had the least idea of how much he wanted to see her she would have contrived some way to come back to him.  But no, she went back to Broadstone to please herself, and left him to wander up and down the roads looking for her in the dark.

When the captain met old Jane at the door of the tollhouse her salutation did not smooth his ruffled spirits, for she told him that she and Mr. Lancaster had sat up until nearly the middle of the night waiting for him, and that the poor young man must have felt it, for he had not eaten half a breakfast.

The captain paid but little attention to these remarks and passed in, but before he crossed the garden he met Dick, who informed him that he had something very important to communicate.  Important communications that must be delivered without a moment’s loss of time are generally unpleasant, and knowing this, the captain knit his brows a little, but told Dick he would be ready for him as soon as he lighted his pipe.  He felt he must have something to soothe his ruffled spirits while he listened to the tale of the woes of some one else.

But at the moment he scratched his match to light his pipe his soul was illuminated by a flash of joy; perhaps Dick was going to tell him he was engaged to Olive; perhaps that was what she had come to tell him the day before.  He had not expected to hear anything of this kind, at least not so soon, but it had been the wish of his heart—­he now knew that without appreciating the fact—­it had been the earnest wish of his heart for some time, and he stepped toward the little arbor with the alacrity of happy anticipation.

As soon as they were seated Dick began to speak of Olive, but not in the way the captain had hoped for.  He mentioned the great trouble into which she had been plunged, and gave the captain his brother’s letter to read.  When he had finished it the captain’s face darkened, and his frown was heavy.

“An outrageous piece of business,” he said, “to treat a daughter in this way; to put a schoolmate over her head in the family!  It is shameful!  And this is what she was coming to tell me?”

“Yes,” said Dick, “that is it.”

Now there was another flash of joy in the captain’s heart, which cleared up his countenance and made his frown disappear.  “She was coming to me,” he thought.  “I was the one to whom she turned in her trouble.”  And it seemed to this good captain as if he had suddenly become the father of a grown-up daughter.